


A Nice Neighbourhood for Bad Behaviour

by summertime227



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summertime227/pseuds/summertime227
Summary: Fred survived his shooting, but Polly was not so lucky. How will Betty cope with her sister's death? What does this mean for her and Jughead? And what is happening to the town with pep?





	1. Chapter 1

Betty had been sitting at her vanity all morning. She sat directly in front of the mirror, plastered with photos and colourful post-it notes, but she actively avoided her own reflection. She stared instead at anything else. A loose thread on her pajama pants. A small rip in her floral wallpaper. The clock on her bedside table. She never looked up. Every few minutes, she wold gasp air into her lungs, realizing she'd forgotten to force her body through the motions of breathing. She glanced over at the clock again to see that another hour had passed and her fingers twitched. The thought of doing her hair, putting on make-up, picking out a dress made her feel sick to her stomach and she couldn't make her limbs move.

By the end of the day, her sister would be in the ground. Betty would never see Polly's face again except in pictures. She felt as though she would always be waiting for the sound of the front door closing quietly and her sister tiptoeing up the stairs, just like all those times she had tried to sneak in after curfew. Sometimes, Polly would stop by Betty's room first and climb into bed with her. She would tell her all about her dates with Jason Blossom as they giggled and shushed each other beneath the floral duvet.

“Betty!” her mother called up suddenly from the kitchen. “Sweetheart, we have to be at the church in one hour!” Alice had been preparing food obsessively since four in the morning. Her dad had not yet left their bedroom.

Betty closed her eyes and heaved a sigh.

_I can do this_ , she thought. _I can get through this day._

She just had to think of it like one of her classic to-do lists.

Step 1: Get dressed.  
Step 2: Brush hair.  
Step 3: Apply make-up.  
Step 4: Sit through the service, bow head, cry at the appropriate times.  
Step 5: Eat something so Jughead doesn’t worry.  
Step 6: Thank everyone for coming, say “yes, I’m doing OK”, make it believable.

_OK, step 1._

Betty stood up slowly from the plush chair in front of her vanity, stretching the feeling back into her legs. She walked over to her closet and pulled both doors open wide. Her eyes scanned over her wardrobe, searching for something, _anything_ black. But all she saw was white. Pink. Sky blue. Pastel. Betty scoffed. _Perfect_.

 

“Oh honey, I’m glad you’re here,” Alice said in a calm, completely un-Alice like tone of voice as she ushered Veronica into the house. Archie and Jughead, in their black suits, followed close behind. Veronica made eye contact with Archie and frowned. Alice Cooper had _never_ been glad to see her. “Betty’s upstairs getting ready. Please,” she said with a smile, gesturing to the stairs with one hand like a game show host.

Veronica lead the way upstairs, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and stopped just outside Betty’s half-open door. “B?” she called out softly as she pushed the door open.

Betty didn't acknowledge them as they stepped into her bedroom. She was standing in front of her closet with her back to them, searching frantically through her clothes, shoving item after item aside with an accompanying huff of annoyance. Every few seconds, she would pull something forcefully off it’s hanger and let it fall to the floor.

“Betty, what-“

“I have nothing to wear!” she whined, her voice cracking. She didn't even spare Veronica a look. She just ripped another article of clothing off it’s hanger, grunting, and threw it to the floor. She did this again and again as her boyfriend and her two best friends watched, fear and sympathy in their eyes.

“B, stop!” Veronica urged, finally rushing up behind her. She took hold of her arms, gently at first, but Betty struggled, now trying to pull at more of her wardrobe with both hands. Tears had begun to pour in a steady stream down her face. Veronica turned Betty around and pulled her into a fervent hug. “Shhh, it’s OK,” she whispered soothingly, rubbing her back.

“It’s not OK!” Betty wailed, squirming in Veronica's arms.

Veronica swallowed thickly, fighting tears. “I know,” she croaked. “I know.”

After a bit more struggling, Betty seemed to realize it was useless. Her energy was all but drained and she finally stopped fighting. Her legs buckled and Veronica was practically holding her up. Betty clung to her tighter and sobbed into her raven-coloured hair. Jughead started toward his girlfriend, but Archie put a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him. Veronica shot them both a look, silently asking them to wait downstairs and give her and Betty some time alone. Jughead seemed reluctant to leave and eventually Archie had to pull him away. Veronica’s arms shook and she lowered her and Betty to the floor among the pile of discarded clothes.

After Betty was done crying, she felt drained of energy. She put herself in Veronica's hands and allowed herself to be babied by her best friend.

First, Veronica picked out a dress for her, the same one she wore to Jason’s memorial. Betty changed slowly into the dress and Veronica zipped it up. She then lead Betty back to the vanity and sat her down. She ran a warm washcloth over Betty’s face, wiping away old tears and soothing some of the redness. Veronica did her make-up, keeping it light, and they sat in silence but for Veronica’s peaceful humming. A little later, when Veronica combed her hair and wove it into a fishtail braid with her delicate fingers, Betty almost started crying again at her friend's tender ministrations.

After her hair and make-up were done, Betty slipped her stocking-clad feet into a pair of black heels. As she stood up straight, Veronica approached her and revealed a pair of short black gloves, satin, with a lace trim. She started buttoning one of the gloves onto Betty’s left hand.

“These were Jughead’s idea…” she said, barely loud enough for Betty to hear.

Betty looked down at her other hand, at the moon-shaped scars and dried blood on her palm. She wasn't sure if Jughead asked Veronica to bring them so that she could hide her scars from the prying eyes of her distant relatives or just so that she wouldn't be able to make more. Either way, she was touched by his thoughtfulness and her eyes welled up again.

Veronica put one finger under Betty’s chin and lifted her head up.

“You can do this, B.”

 

_LATER_

Even with the help of some of her old medications, Betty drifted in and out of a restless sleep. She checked her phone, squinting against the bright blue light of the screen. 2:00 AM. Swallowing, she felt the sand-like dryness in her throat and on her tongue, and stumbled groggily out of bed to get a glass of water. She walked downstairs in her pajama shorts, Jughead's _S_ t-shirt and bare feet. She saw her mom sitting at the kitchen island with a faraway look in her eyes. She didn't seem to notice Betty's entrance.

“Mom?”

She didn’t respond for a few seconds and Betty thought maybe she hadn’t heard her.

“They didn’t eat the potato salad,” her mom finally mumbled. She looked up at Betty. There were unshed tears brimming in her eyes and her chin was trembling.

“Oh, mom,” Betty breathed out.

Stepping forward, Alice Cooper's remaining daughter wrapped her arms around her mother as the sobs she had been holding in all day finally wracked through her body.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sit,” Betty said as sternly as she could.

The shaggy dog just quirked his head to one side, his tongue falling out of the side of his mouth as he panted happily. Betty giggled and pushed her lips together, trying to stop the smile forming on her face.

“Hot Dog, sit,” she commanded again. She stared him down, doing her best _Alice Cooper won't be disobeyed_ impression. After a moment, Hot Dog plopped his butt onto the carpet in defeat and Betty beamed.

“Good boy!” she praised, kneeling in front of him. She produced a burger-shaped chew toy from behind her back and Hot Dog’s tail started wagging.

 

Jughead heard Betty’s infectious laughter from outside. He shifted the take-out bag from Pop’s into one arm and opened the trailer door. He grinned at the sight in front of him. Betty was sitting on the floor in black underwear, his blue flannel buttoned haphazardly, and fuzzy white socks. With her face void of make-up, her hair falling down her back, still wet from a shower, and a carefree smile gracing her lips, he thought she had never looked more beautiful. Betty held Hot Dog’s chew toy behind her and he was trying to climb over her to get to it. Hot Dog licked her face, making Betty squeal adorably. Jughead set his keys and the take-out bag on the kitchen counter and Betty finally looked up at him, the smile he hadn't seen in a long time growing even wider. He smirked and raised his eyebrows.

“Hi,” he said, amused.

Betty threw the chew toy to the other side of the room and Hot Dog went bounding after it. She pushed herself off the floor and Jughead grabbed her hands, pulling her up. She slid her hands over his palms, his forearms, and up to his shoulders.

“Hi,” she demurred.

He kissed her lips softly, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Betty smiled and nodded, but then realized his eyes were still closed. She cleared her throat quietly. “Starved.”

 

In the months following Polly’s funeral, Betty had taken to staying at FP’s trailer with Jughead as many nights as she could. Her parents didn’t question it and she wondered if they even noticed when she wasn't in her bed in the morning. They had been fighting more than usual, blowing up at each other over the smallest things and retreating to opposite corners of the house for the rest of the night. The next morning, they would eat breakfast together as if nothing had ever happened.

Jughead had explained the situation with Betty to his foster parents and they were surprisingly understanding. They only asked that he checked in every night and not miss any school. He was at Southside High now, but Archie and Veronica had promised to keep an eye on Betty at Riverdale High. Jughead had also gone to Viper, asking him if it was OK if he deferred their offer until things got better with Betty. Viper had just clapped him on the back and told him to come by the Whyte Wyrm if he ever needed anything.

 

By the time they finished their burgers and milkshakes, chocolate for him, strawberry for her, Hot Dog had fallen asleep on the end of the couch, his chew toy tucked under his chin. Jughead stood up to put their plates in the sink and Betty followed closely behind. She put her hands on his biceps and placed a kiss between his shoulder blades. He turned around, leaning back on the counter and Betty moved her hands up to link her fingers behind his head. Jughead wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I like hearing you laugh,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Betty sighed, looking up at him shyly. “I guess it takes a very special someone to make me smile these days…”

He leaned in closer, but she abruptly turned her head to the side, looking through the kitchen window.

“Which is why I’m so glad you adopted Hot Dog,” she said brightly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Jughead scoffed, a boyish smile breaking onto his face. He pinched her waist playfully and when she gasped, he took the opportunity to pull her closer and slip his tongue into her mouth. Betty moaned at his bold move and held his face in her hands, kissing him back and branding his lips with hers. She pushed her body closer against him while he tangled his fingers in her damp hair. When they were both deprived of oxygen, Jughead pulled away from her swollen lips and moved lower, feathering kisses across her jaw and down her neck. Betty reached up to push his beanie off his head and he nibbled on her earlobe.

“Jug-" she panted, tugging on his hair.

He nuzzled back up her neck agonizingly slowly and kissed her again. She welcomed him back eagerly, sucking on his bottom lip. He moved his hands to her thighs, skimming over her hips and sliding up and under the flannel shirt. He ran his hands up to her rib cage and stiffened when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra.

“Don’t stop,” Betty whispered against his lips.

Jughead leaned forward so that he and Betty were standing cheek to cheek. He held on tightly to her rib cage, his thumbs brushing faintly against the bottoms of her breasts. He hesitated for just a second before ghosting the pads of his thumbs over the peaks, feeling how they puckered beneath his touch. Her head fell back and she whimpered embarrassingly loud. He did it again, with more pressure this time, reveling in the sounds he was bringing out of her.

Betty stepped away abruptly, Jughead's hands falling out from under her – _his_ – shirt and his eyes opening lazily. She tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes darted downward, distracted by the movement of her shaking fingers. He swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing in slow motion as she started unbuttoning the flannel. She released the last button, letting the shirt fall of her shoulders and drop to the floor. Jughead raked his eyes over her chest, her smooth stomach, her hipbones peeking out from the black cotton of her underwear and sighed, the same way he did after their first kiss.

“Betts…” he groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her collarbone. “You are so beautiful.”

Betty smiled sweetly. She pushed him back against the counter and kissed him again. The feeling of her bare chest pressed against him caused the already prominent bulge in his jeans to press even more uncomfortably against his zipper. He held her neck with both hands and kissed her with renewed intensity, pulling her lower lip between his teeth.

“Bedroom,” Betty gasped between kisses.

Jughead pulled away again so he could see her face and the way she was looking at him made his heart pound in his chest. He placed his hands on the back of her thighs and lifted her slowly. She stepped one foot off the floor, then the other, and wrapped her legs around him. He braced one hand across her back and held her thigh against him with the other. He stumbled towards his bedroom at the back of the trailer, occasionally bumping into the wall, as Betty sucked a mark that matched the colour of her lips into the skin below his ear.

Jughead dropped them both onto the bed, Betty beneath him, and they both moaned at the sudden pressure of him against her. Betty let her legs fall open wider and Jughead settled between them, returning his lips to hers. She hitched her leg higher on his thigh and ground against him, searching for friction. She fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and he leaned back a bit to pull it over his head. He dropped back down, hovering over her. Betty's tongue danced with his as her fingertips trailed down his chest, his abdomen. Her fingers stopped at Jughead's belt buckle and she tugged on it impatiently. She pulled away from his lips so she could look down at what she was doing. She got his belt unbuckled and quickly worked on the button and zipper of his jeans. She slipped her hand into his pants and palmed him over his boxers. He shivered and she looked back up at him with a sweet smile and kissed the corner of his mouth. She loved the feeling of watching him come undone because of her, loved that she was the only one who got to see this side of him. She rubbed him again. He rocked into her and she felt her own knuckles grind against her. She moved her hand away so she could feel him. He did it again and she lifted her hips further up off the bed, writhing beneath him.

“Please…” Betty begged quietly, blushing at the desperation in her voice.

Jughead opened his eyes, searching hers for any apprehension.

“Are we really doing this?” he murmured, brushing a strand of her blonde hair out of her face. “Cause we’ve done a lot… But we’ve never done that.”

Betty rested her other hand on his chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart against her palm. “We're really doing this," she said, her voice low, but full of conviction.

Jughead dipped his head and kissed her, short but bruising. He rolled over to shimmy out of his jeans and grab a condom from his bedside table, but Betty grabbed his wrist.

"I'm on the pill."

Jughead raised his eyebrows and felt his mouth drop open slightly.

"My mom's idea..." Betty explained, blushing.

Jughead winced at the idea of Betty and Mrs. Cooper talking about their sex life but shook the thought from his head and returned to the half-naked goddess in his bed. "You're sure it's OK?"

Betty kissed him again. "I want to feel all of you," she whispered in his ear.

Jughead's breath hitched before he slowly dragged her underwear down her legs, his fingertips grazing her impossibly soft skin. She pushed his boxers down, not bothering to remove them completely. Jughead kissed down the valley of her breasts to her stomach, her hips. He wanted nothing more than to be inside of her, but he looked up into her eyes once more.

Jughead looked at her through his thick eyelashes and Betty's heart warmed. She pushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes, laughing softly when it immediately fell back in place. He chuckled and blew it out of his face. She put one hand under his arm and the other at the nape of his neck. She buried her fingers in his hair and nodded.

When Jughead finally pushed into her, he did so slowly. Betty took a deep breath in through her nose and held it. He ached to thrust into her, but waited for her body to relax around him.

"It's OK. You can move."

It took them a little while to find a rhythm, but once they did, Jughead knew he wouldn't last long. The sounds coming out of Betty's mouth were downright sinful and were almost enough to push him over the edge. She breathed his name over and over like a prayer.

"I love you," he groaned against her neck.

Betty wrapped her legs around his back, locking her ankles, and pulled him impossibly closer, impossibly deeper. He could feel himself losing control, but he was determined for her to finish first. He moved one hand between her legs and rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves with the heel of his hand. He closed his lips around the peak of her breast, pushing his tongue flat against the pink bud. Her breath quickened. Her grip on his hair tightened. Suddenly she let out a strangled cry, covering her mouth with her other hand, but not really blocking any sound. He felt her entire body seize up beneath him. He kept massaging between her legs, working her through the waves of her climax. Then he moved one hand to the crook of her knee and found her hand with his other, weaving their fingers together. She held his hand tight and kissed his temple, tasting the salt from his sweat on her lips.

"Come on Juggie, come on," she urged him on lovingly, tears falling from her eyes.

He thrust deeper into her a few more times, Betty crying out from too much stimulation, and followed close behind, grunting into her hair.

When they both came down from their high, Jughead rolled over and Betty crawled into his open arms. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. He didn't think there would ever be a time when he didn't crave Betty Cooper, to kiss her, touch her, be inside of her.

"I love you," she said, voice thick with emotion. She caressed his face tenderly, but there was a look in her eyes he had never seen and couldn't describe. She turned around so that they were spooning and he kissed the top of her head. They fell asleep to the sound of each other’s slowing heartbeats.

 

A few hours later, Betty was awoken by the vibration of her phone. She sat up and accidentally nudged Hot Dog, who must have joined them on the bed after they'd fallen asleep. She picked it up to see she had one new message. She looked down at Jughead, making sure the sound hadn’t woken him, and smiled at his sleeping form. His dark hair had fallen into his eyes yet again and his mouth was hanging adorably open. When she opened the message, the smile slipped from her face and a chill ran across her still-hot skin.

_I think I’ve found something. Can you meet me?_


	3. Chapter 3

_I think I’ve found something. Can you meet me?_

_I won’t be able to get away until after school tomorrow._

_4pm by the trail entrance._

 

The next day, Betty couldn’t focus in any of her classes. In Biology, she spent the whole period staring out the window and missed the entire lesson on cell structure. In Math, Miss Simpkins called on her to answer a question and said her name three times before Cheryl eventually had to nudge her in the arm. Betty snapped to attention, apologizing to Miss Simpkins, who just gave her a sympathetic look and returned to the lesson on prime factorization. Cheryl rolled her eyes, but slid her notes over for her to copy.

Betty didn't say anything at lunch, instead lost in thought about her rendezvous after school. If her friends noticed, they didn't mention it. Veronica chatted overly cheerily about their new Vixens routine, Cheryl correcting her when she said herkie instead of toe touch, Archie and Kevin nodding along and trying to look impressed at the appropriate moments. They were trying to act normal. For her.

Ever since it happened, they had all been keeping an eye on her and trying to create a positive, upbeat environment. Even though she knew Archie was still having nightmares about his father’s shooting. Even though she knew Veronica was a tightly wound ball of elastic bands because of her father’s imminent release. Even though she knew Kevin’s relationship with _his _father was becoming increasingly strained as he toed the line between the sheriff’s son and friend to a Lodge, a Blossom and a Jones. Even though she knew Cheryl was… well, Betty thought Cheryl should have a free pass to be as _not_ normal as she wanted after everything she’d gone through that year.__

____

And their extra attention to her well-being, although appreciated, had made it extra difficult to find some time alone. How was she going to slip out of school unseen without raising any questions as to why she was heading in the opposite direction of the trailer park?

____

At least she didn't have to worry about Jughead. He usually drove over from Southside High to pick her up after school, but FP’s truck broke down in the parking lot of Pop’s last week.

____

Betty pictured her boyfriend’s face, his lopsided boyish grin and intense grey-blue eyes. She noted the distracting but not totally unpleasant ache between her legs for the third time that day and felt a stab of guilt. Last night had been so perfect, a snapshot of how the rest of her life could be – eating dinner in her PJs with her favourite person, making love, and falling asleep in his arms. She wanted it, really she did. She wanted to move on just like he thought she was.

____

But not yet.

____

 

____

After the final bell rang, Betty changed into her Vixen’s uniform in the girl’s changeroom just like she did everyday. She readjusted her ponytail several times, wrapping a blue ribbon around and tying it off in a perfect bow. Her uniform was perfectly pressed. Her white sneakers were tied tight. She was perfect and peppy. But as the last girls filed out of the changeroom to join Cheryl in the gym, Betty lingered behind.

____

“You coming, B?” Veronica asked, turning back and holding the door open.

____

“Umm, actually, I just realized I forgot a book in my locker. And I really need to get it cause it’s my Spanish textbook and there’s a quiz tomorrow so… Meet you in there?”

____

“OK. Don’t be too long. You know how Cheryl gets,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes.

____

Betty forced a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll just be a sec.”

____

When she heard Veronica’s footsteps fade away at the end of the hall, Betty shoved her belongings into her bag, hurried out of the changeroom and the school, and started her short walk to Eversgreen Forest.

____

 

____

The black 1971 Plymouth Barracuda was already sitting in the trail parking lot when she arrived. She looked around a few times before opening the passenger side door and sliding in.

____

“Cute outfit.”

____

Betty scowled at the leather-clad, black-haired biker.

____

She slammed the door closed behind her.

____

“Does Kev know you’re here?”

____

Joaquin shook his head and looked down. “No.”

____

Betty nodded.

____

“It’s better if he doesn’t know,” Joaquin added quietly. “For now.”

____

Betty nodded again, not sure what to say, before snapping into journalist mode.

____

“So?”

____

Joaquin looked up as if just remembering she was there. “Right down to it, sure.”

____

He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, slid his thumb across the screen and held it out to her. Betty stared at the picture for a few seconds then raised her eyebrows.

____

“What am I looking at?”

____

“It’s a car.”

____

“I can see that,” she said impatiently. “And…?”

____

“Look at the bottom left of the bumper.”

____

Betty used two fingers and zoomed in. On the bumper was a sticker of a snake, coiled and menacing, it’s jaw open wide to show off two long fangs.

____

“A snake,” Betty said and it wasn't a question.

____

Joaquin saw the gears turning in her head and cut off her train of thought.

____

“It’s not a Serpent. It’s a Black Mamba.”

____

Betty furrowed her brow and tilted her head in confusion.

____

“As in the Midvale Black Mambas,” Joaquin explained.

____

“Wait," Betty said, squinting and pulling her ponytail tighter. "You’re telling me there are two towns with gangs named after snakes?”

____

Joaquin threw up his hands.

____

“I thought those Midvale guys never came here...”

____

“They don’t usually,” Joaquin confirmed. He paused for a second, choosing his next words carefully. “I… have a theory.”

____

Betty gestured for him to go on.

____

“Well, my guy says he saw a car with that bumper sticker hanging around the diner the day Fred Andrews was shot. And then again when… Anyway, I asked him to keep his ear to the ground, let me know if he hears anything.”

____

“Well, share with the class, won't you?”

____

“Apparently the Black Mambas have been trying to bring in drugs for a while. And I’m not talking pot or scrips. I mean hard drugs. Heroin. Cocaine. The Serpents don’t want anything to do with that stuff, never have. FP’s always tried to keep it out of Riverdale. And since the Serpents control the highway…”

____

“The drugs never make it to Midvale…” Betty finished, putting the pieces together in her head.

____

“They’re fed up,” Joaquin said.

____

Betty thought for a minute and when she reached the same conclusion as Joaquin, she felt sick.

____

“They’re trying to frame the Serpents," Betty said slowly. "Shut you guys down so they can take over the territory.”

____

“I think so,” Joaquin muttered.

____

Betty covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. Originally, she thought Polly had been targeted specifically, maybe even by a Blossom. Now, there was a possibility that this was all random, that it could have been anyone who died that day, whoever was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wasn't sure which was worse.

____

“So, we know why…”

____

She looked up at Joaquin then and there was something considerably darker in her eyes.

____

“Do we know who?”

____

He didn't have to ask what she meant. She wanted to know who made the order. She wanted to know who pulled the trigger.

____

“Not yet.”

____

“So, you’ll keep looking.”

____

“Betty… Asking these questions… It’s getting risky. And I don’t think FP- or Jughead for that matter would want me to-"

____

“So, what, you answer to him now?” she snapped.

____

“Someday I just might.”

____

“Joaquin, please,” she said, her eyes abruptly misting over. “This isn’t just about me anymore. Or Po-" She swallowed and continued someplace safer. “If you’re right and the Mambas are making a play, it could mean serious trouble for the Serpents. And Riverdale.”

____

Joaquin sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah.” He looked back at Betty. “Yeah, OK. I’ll keep looking.”

____

Betty nodded. There was nothing left to say. She climbed out of the car and turned around to shut the door.

____

“Betty!” Joaquin called after her.

____

She leaned down further to meet his eyes.

____

“How is he?”

____

“How are any of us?” she retorted sarcastically, but her face quickly softened and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a sad, sympathetic smile.

____

“He’ll be OK.”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos & Comments are my bread and butter! …But not really. They have no monetary value. Only the value they hold in my heart!!


	4. Chapter 4

It had been weeks and Betty still hadn’t heard anything from Joaquin.

Their meeting had only left Betty with more questions. Who is the leader of the Midvale Black Mambas? Which one of them shot Polly? Even if she had a name, what could _she_ do about it? The Serpents are still operational… so does that mean more people will die? How many people in Riverdale have to die before Keller makes an arrest? What if he falls for the trick and arrests a Serpent?

She became obsessed, checking her phone every few minutes and eavesdropping any time she heard Jughead on the phone with his dad to see if they were talking about something gang related.

A few nights after her rendezvous with Joaquin, Betty was at Pop’s with Jughead and Veronica. Archie said he still wasn’t ready.

“Is everything OK, Betty?” Veronica had asked. She was looking down at her phone under the linoleum table and her head snapped up.

“What d’you mean?”

“That’s like the third time you’ve looked at your phone in the last ten minutes.”

“I’m fine. It’s just my mom checking in. Again.”

Veronica rolled her eyes dramatically, the on-brand behaviour of Alice Cooper seeming to placate her. She launched back into her diatribe about her own mother’s madness and everything she was doing to prepare for Hiram Lodge’s homecoming.

Betty thought she should probably try harder to listen, to stay checked-in to the conversation. Jughead, who was sitting next to her, placed his hand on her knee. This was something he often did, whether they were here, at her house, at the trailer. He would touch her in some way just for the sake of it and continue to participate in whatever conversation was going on. But this touch had felt different to her somehow. She glanced up at him to see that he was watching her intently and frowning. She met his eyes just for a second and quickly looked away, hoping he couldn’t see the lie in her eyes, but knowing he could.

She hated lying to her friends, but she especially hated lying to Jughead. She knew he was becoming more and more suspicious of her odd behaviour, her unexplained absences. She could tell he wanted to ask her what was wrong. But he didn't. He just waited patiently for her to come to him. And it only made her feel more guilty. They had always been partners. They had found Polly at The Sisters of Quiet Mercy and solved Jason Blossom’s murder together. But this just felt… different. This felt like something she had to do on her own, partly because she didn’t want to put him in any danger, but partly because she didn’t think he would be cool with her running headlong into it.

Betty had always been good at hiding her true feelings, pretending she was OK when she wasn’t, plastering a smile on her face when it’s the last thing she wanted to do. But she was so… _tired_. It was becoming increasingly difficult to act like everything was normal. So she started pulling away. She screened Archie’s calls. She cancelled plans with Veronica, coming up with weak excuses she probably didn’t believe. If she got to the trailer before Jughead after school, she would pretended to have fallen asleep in front of the TV. She was so sick of waiting for something to happen.

“Betty, losers let things happen. Winners _make_ things happen,” her mom had once said.

And so that’s how she ended up at The Last Resort in Midvale at 9 o’clock.

She was sitting at the bar in a borrowed dress and biting on the straw of her almost untouched vodka soda. She glanced around, trying not to look nervous, and wondered if she was way in over her head.

 

She was supposed to go to the spring talent show that night where Archie was performing for the first time since the Jubilee. Veronica would be there and even Jughead had agreed to brave the judgmental stares and possible harassment from Reggie and Chuck to spend an evening at his old high school. But she’d been sitting around all day. She felt useless and restless and reckless. So, when Jughead was feeding Hot Dog, just like he always did before they were about to leave the trailer, she told him she wasn’t feeling well. He said he would stay home too, to take care of her, but she told him to go. She told him she would be fine on her own, that she just wanted to sleep it off. He argued, but when she told him Archie really wanted him there for support, he eventually gave in.

“Just for an hour,” he had agreed begrudgingly.

Archie and Veronica came to pick him up. Betty watched the tail lights of Fred’s car until she could no longer see them through the dark. She walked quickly to the back of the trailer, pulling her t-shirt and shorts off on the way. Hot Dog was on her heels, made curious by her sudden hurrying. She dug the red dress she’d borrowed from Cheryl out of the bottom drawer of Jughead’s dresser and pulled it over her head. The zipper proved to be a bit of a struggle as Cheryl was a size smaller than her, but eventually, she got it up and secured the single button at her lower back. She pulled her blonde hair from its ponytail and shook it out, working it into messy tendrils with her fingers and flipping it all to one side. Finally, she swiped red lipstick across her lips and slipped into her most uncomfortable heels. She picked her phone up off the bedside table and dialed the number of Riverdale’s only cab company. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed CALL.

A while back, Betty had heard from Kevin who had heard from Joaquin that The Last Resort was like Midvale’s Whyte Wyrm. But when the cab pulled up outside of The Last Resort, she was considerably more on edge. Maybe because she wasn't dating a Black Mamba legacy. Or maybe because nobody there knew who her mother was. There were several motorcycles parked in the front, so Betty knew she was in the right place. A patron stumbled out of the bar. Raucous laughter and loud music from inside poured through the open door.

The cab driver looked at her in the rear-view mirror, his eyebrows raised. “You sure this is where you wanna be, miss?”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain it isn’t.” She handed him a 50 for the ride and then another. “Wait here. If I’m not back in 20 minutes, you can go.”

Betty climbed out of the cab and approached the front door, praying Cheryl’s dress would help her look older or at least distract the bouncer enough so that he wouldn’t care how old she was. He looked her up and down and pushed the door open, a taunting smirk that said _After you_ on his face.

Betty wasn’t oblivious to the leering looks that followed her as she made her way through the throng of intimidating patrons, but she tried to ignore them as best she could and took a seat at the bar. She ordered a club soda. She had only wanted it to look like she was drinking. This was, after all, an intelligence gathering mission. The bartender set her drink down in front of her. She took a sip and coughed, nearly spitting it back out.

“It’ll help with the nerves,” the bartender explained with a knowing look.

 

Betty was jolted out of her recollection when she glimpsed a familiar jacket out of the corner of her eye. It was made of worn, black leather and adorned with an emblem of a snake. It could almost have been mistaken for a Serpent’s jacket, only the snake was not green, but black. It was outlined with gold and had the same long fangs of the snake on the bumper sticker. Above the snake, the word BLACK was written in fancy script and below, the word MAMBAS. Betty craned her neck, trying to see the face of the jacket’s wearer, when suddenly, an older man with wiry, greying facial hair, a neck tattoo, and the same jacket stretched over his broad shoulders dropped unceremoniously into the seat next to her. He ordered a drink in a deep voice made hoarse from too much smoking. Betty stared straight ahead, trying to ignore him, but she immediately stiffened when his next words were directed at her.

“Now, what is a Vixen like you doing in a place like this?”

She held her breath and turned her head further away.

“Does your Serpent boyfriend know you’re here?”

Betty whipped her head around and met his eyes. They were steely, with a bit too much mischief for a man his age. She swallowed thickly and prayed her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “So, you obviously know who I am. Who are you?”

“You mean am I the leader?" he drawled with a knowing look. "No. You’ll never get to him, never see him. You’ll never even know who he is.” He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and tossed enough cash on the bar for his drink and hers. “Go home little girl.” He rested his heavy hand on her bare knee, causing Betty to flinch. He pushed himself up off the stool, his hand sliding under the hem of her dress. He leaned in closer and she could feel his hot breath in her ear. “Or FP,” he spit the name, “won’t be the only Jones behind bars.” He removed his sweaty hand from her knee and walked away.

Betty released the breath she’d been holding and stepped onto the floor rather ungracefully. The stool teetered from her sudden departure and she reached out to steady it before backing away from the bar. She pushed through the crowds of people of varying levels of intoxication and didn't stop until she was back outside. She breathed in lungful after lungful of fresh air. Her head spun and her hands shook. She was such an idiot to think she could just walk in there and solve this whole thing on her own. They knew exactly who she was, exactly why she had come. She felt her eyes well up with tears that threatened to spill over. She spotted the cab and ran towards it, her heels scraping along the pavement, as a few people having a cigarette eyed her curiously. She pulled on the handle a few times before the driver actually unlocked the door and it opened. She dropped into the backseat and slammed the door closed behind her.

“Where to?”

Betty closed her eyes. She was about to tell the cab driver to take her home, to FP’s trailer, but she pictured Jughead’s face in her mind and her breath quickened again almost to the point of hyperventilation. They knew who he was, too. They threatened him. She emitted a quiet sob and slammed the back of her head against the seat. _Idiot_.

“Miss?”

She opened her eyes and looked at the driver in the rear-view mirror, his image blurred and distorted. She released a trembling breath, digging her nails into the leather upholstery, and closed her eyes again.

“The Whyte Wyrm.”

 

Jughead leaned against a locker and tapped his foot impatiently. Archie was great as usual and Jughead was glad he came, but he also really wanted to get home and make sure Betty was OK. He checked the time again when his phone’s ringtone suddenly went off and an unfamiliar number popped up. He swiped his thumb across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Jug?” a man said and sighed in relief. “Good. I wasn’t sure you still had the same number…”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Mac O’Malley. From the Wyrm.”

“Oh, right.” Jughead raised his eyebrows and waited for Mac to go on. He didn't. “What’s up?” Jughead asked impatiently.

“It’s your girlfriend. She’s in pretty bad shape, man. You’d better come down here.”

Jughead stood up straight, moving the phone to his other ear. “Wait, back up. Betty’s at the bar!?”

“Yeah. I was gonna call her mom, but I remember what Allie was like and-"

“I’ll be right there.”

Jughead hung up and ran over to where Archie and Veronica were in deep conversation with the Pussycats.

“No, you were great Archie. I’m just saying you might want to expand your diaphragm a little more.”

Archie nodded, listening intently to Josie’s advice while Veronica and Val shook their heads, laughing to themselves.

“Archie!” Jughead yelled as he slowed down in front of them, out of breath.

The smile dropped from Veronica’s face when she heard the fear in his voice and saw it in his eyes. Archie took a step forward, looking behind Jughead for a second before looking back at his best friend.

“Jug, what is it?”

“I need a ride.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jughead, Archie, and Veronica barrelled through the doors of the Whyte Wyrm, skidding to a halt and scanning the bar desperately for Betty. It was late for a weekday, but there were still a few stragglers in the run-down establishment. Mac and another bartender Jughead didn't recognize stood on opposite ends of the bar, drying freshly washed glasses. There were two men, younger, playing pool. One analyzed his next shot, leaning over the table while the other stood off to the side, supporting his weight on a pool cue. There was an older man, a regular probably, nursing a beer at the bar. And there was a couple making out at a table in the corner.

Finally, Jughead’s eyes landed on his girlfriend’s unmistakable blonde hair. It was down, falling in messy waves over her bare shoulders. And that’s when he noticed the dress she had on. It was so completely contradictory. The shiny velvet looked inviting, soft to the touch, but the deep red colour reminded him of blood. The length was modest, falling just above her knee, but it looked dangerously tight, hugging her every curve. The top of the dress cut straight across her chest, showing very little cleavage, but the back plunged, revealing a significant expanse of her porcelain skin. She looked exquisite, undeniable. She looked like trouble. He wondered where she got it.

She was sitting in a booth alone, slumped over. The side of her head was lying on the table on top of her outstretched arm. Her eyes were closed and she was partly covering them with her other hand, but he could tell she wasn't asleep. She was worrying her bottom lip and taking the deep breaths of someone who was really trying to focus on their breathing. Jughead made his way over to Betty, Archie and Veronica following close behind. He crouched next to her.

“Betts,” he said softly, stroking her arm with his knuckles. He removed her hand from in front of her eyes. They fluttered open and immediately welled up with tears.

“Jug-gie?”

“Hey baby,” he croaked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She smiled at him warmly, but eventually closed her eyes again and settled her head back down.

Jughead recognized the glazed-over look in her eyes, the slackness of her mouth, the slight slur of his nickname immediately. He’d seen the same look in his father’s eyes, tried to decipher his muddled words a million times.

She was drunk.

Veronica had heard it too. Her breath caught and she glared at Mac behind the bar. “You served her!? She’s 17!”

“Not me,” Mac said, nodding warily to the other guy who was seemingly not paying attention to them. Jughead started toward the bar.

“Jug-" Archie said. He tried to grab his sleeve, but Jughead slipped through his fingers. He walked over to the other bartender, fists clenched. He must have overheard their conversation because when Jughead approached, he looked up at him with a wry grin.

“It seemed like she could use a drink,” the prick said, smirking. He looked past Jughead and eyed Betty up and down in a way that made his skin crawl and his blood boil. “And she doesn’t look 17 dressed li-"

Jughead knocked the glass out of the guy’s hand and he watched it shatter, momentarily distracted. Jughead grabbed his collar and punched him in the face _hard_. He gripped his collar tight, pulling his face closer.

“Stay away from her,” Jughead warned. He let go of his collar with just enough force to send him stumbling back into the shelves with a thud. “And show some damn respect.”

As Jughead walked back across the bar, he heard Mac mumbling to the other bartender who was sulking and pouring himself a shot.

“I told you not to mess with FP’s kid,” Mac scolded. “Or his kid’s girl.”

Betty hadn't even lifted her head during the altercation between Jughead and the bartender. Veronica, who had been kneeling beside Betty, stroking her hair and whispering soothing words into her ear, stood up and stepped away when Jughead came back over.

“Come on, Betts.”

He grabbed hold of the crook of her elbow. Betty groaned in protest but she let him help her stand and lead her out of the booth. Once out of the booth, she tried to step carefully, but she immediately wobbled in her high heels. Her legs buckled and she stumbled into Jughead’s arms. He held her steady for a moment, but as soon as she tried to move again, her head spun and she leaned into him further.

“It’s OK, I’ve got you,” Jughead mumbled into Betty’s hair, wrapping one arm around her waist, his palm on her stomach. He slid his other arm under her knees and slowly lifted her up bridal style. Veronica grabbed Betty’s purse off the table and Archie walked ahead of them, holding the door open.

Outside, Jughead laid Betty down in the back of Fred’s car, walked around to the other side, and slid into the seat next to her. He carefully moved her into an upright position so he could fasten her seat belt, but he draped her legs over his lap and held onto her hip. Betty tucked her head into the crook of his neck and promptly passed out.

Archie drove toward the trailer park and Jughead caught his eye in the rear-view mirror several times as he glanced in the back to check on him and Betty. Veronica sat in the front seat with excellent posture, fidgeting with the radio dials before she eventually gave up and jabbed the power button with a huff.

Jughead rubbed up and down Betty’s bare arm, trying to work some warmth into her cold skin. She sighed in her sleep and everything he’d been feeling – exhaustion, disappointment, fear – finally caught up to him. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes and he turned to look out the window.

He watched the South Side blur past and thought about how tragically familiar it all felt. How many times had someone called from the Whyte Wyrm asking him to come pick up his drunken father and take him home? Too many.

And it scared him like hell all the time, the possibility that he might follow in FP’s footsteps. Hell, the whole town was just waiting for it to happen so they could say ‘See? I told you so. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’.

It was supposed to be _him_.

Not her.

_She misses her sister. It’s one time._

But, how many times had he made the same kinds of excuses for his dad? _He misses mom. He misses JB. He’ll do better._ Too many. He’d been playing the same game with FP for years, but he couldn't do it with the girl he loved.

He wouldn't try to guess everything that had been going on in her head lately, but he knew she was spiraling. The darkness she tried so hard to keep hidden, the darkness that he loved despite everything because it was a part of who she was, the same darkness he saw in himself, was taking over.

He wouldn't let that happen.

When they got to the trailer, Jughead lifted Betty out of the car and nudged the door closed with his foot. Archie offered to stay.

“Thanks man, but I think I need to just…” Jughead trailed off. _Just what? What was he going to do?_

“Call us if you need anything, OK?” Veronica urged as she passed Betty’s purse to Archie. Jughead stepped closer so Archie could reach through the car window and rest the clutch on Betty’s curved stomach.

“I will.”

After they drove back down the gravel road, Jughead turned around and walked slowly up the trailer steps. He dug his keys out of his jeans pocket and twisted himself and Betty into an awkward angle so he could fit the key into the door.

He stepped into the darkened trailer and flicked on a light. Hot Dog jumped up from his spot on the couch and came running over. He put his paws on Jughead’s leg and stretched up to inspect the girl in his arms. He sniffed Betty’s limply hanging hand and whimpered.

“It’s OK, boy. She’s OK,” he crooned.

Jughead carried Betty carefully to his bedroom at the back of the trailer. He sat her down at the foot of his bed and knelt between her legs. He put his arms under hers, holding her up, and rested his chin on her shoulder blade so he could see her back. He unbuttoned her dress and tugged on the zipper. When he leaned back, he pulled her forward and rested her forehead in the crook of his neck so that she was leaning on him. He pushed the material of the dress up her legs, past her waist, and pulled it over her head and off of her limp arms. She was in a black strapless bra and matching underwear, but the sight of her bare skin didn’t stir anything in the pit of his stomach like it usually would. She just looked… small… exposed… vulnerable. Still supporting Betty’s weight, he searched the floor blindly with his hand, eventually finding his _S_ t-shirt. Putting something on proved a little more difficult than taking something off, but in the end, he managed to pull the shirt over Betty’s head and maneuver her arms through the sleeves. He picked her up again and laid her down on the other end of the bed, her head on the pillow. He removed her heels and tucked her legs beneath the blue-and-grey-striped duvet.

Jughead fell back into his overstuffed reading chair, sighing heavily and raking his hands through his hair. Hot Dog jumped onto the bed and circled a few times before settling in the corner, his chin resting on Betty’s calve. Jughead watched her sleep for a little while, watched the rise and fall of her chest, the movement of her eyes behind her almost translucent lids. He fought off sleep as long as he could but eventually, he succumbed, slowly and then suddenly. He never made it out of the chair.


	6. Chapter 6

Betty woke with a start. For a split second, she was overcome by that unsettling feeling of panic and confusion you get when you can’t remember where you are, but then she turned her face into the pillow and she was overcome by Jughead’s scent. She breathed in deeply, comfortable and content, but then flashes of last night rushed into her memory. She sat up quickly and immediately thought, _bad idea_. There was a painful pounding in her temples, the light coming through the blinds was much too bright, and her mouth was dry.

She glanced over at the alarm clock on Jughead’s bedside table – **9:42AM** – and noticed some water and aspirin sitting next to it. She popped the pills into her mouth and gulped down the entire glass. She stood up, stretching her limbs and cringed when she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror.

She was in Jughead’s _S_ t-shirt and nothing else. Her skin was pale. The green of her eyes was duller than usual. Her mascara was smudged. Her lips were chapped. And her blonde hair was all tangled and flat on one side. Betty wiped below her eyes – even though it didn’t help much – and gathered her hair, tying it into a messy bun on the top of her head. She spotted a pair of her light wash, loose-fitting jeans neatly folded on the arm of Jughead’s reading chair and pulled them on.

She picked up a sleeping Hot Dog off the end of the bed and nuzzled her face into his soft fur. “What’s the mood out there, boy?” she mumbled. The shaggy dog just sighed in response and tucked his head into the crook of her neck. Betty took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She left the small bedroom and walked down the narrow hall in search of her boyfriend.

 

Jughead was sitting on the floral couch in the living room when Betty entered the room, fully dressed and drinking black coffee. He looked up, but only for a second, and he avoided eye contact. “You know when I said I wanted you to be a Jones one day, _this_ ,” he gestured to her obvious hangover, “isn’t really what I had in mind.” He said it like a joke, but his signature smirk didn’t play on his face and his eyes weren’t sparkling like usual, telling her he didn’t actually find it funny.

“Jug…” Her eyes dropped to the floor in shame as she thought of how she could explain when she noticed her orange and pink duffle bag, packed and sitting at his feet. She set Hot Dog on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked, eyeing her bag.

“I called your mom,” he said apprehensively, standing up and setting his mug down on the coffee table. “She wants you to stay at home for a little while.”

“Is that what you want?” Betty asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t-" He began to say: _I can’t take care of you. I love you, but I’m not equipped for this. I will fail. Again. _But it all sounded wrong and harsh and too depressing, so he cut himself off. He cleared his throat awkwardly and hoisted her bag up off the floor. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”__

____

Betty had never heard Jughead sound so serious, at least not while he was talking to her. He called her mom?? Her boyfriend, prone to extensive rambling and spirited monologuing, was being eerily taciturn. She didn’t recognize this side of him and didn’t know how to handle it. So, instead of arguing, she just slipped on her shoes, waved goodbye to Hot Dog, and followed him outside. He opened the truck’s door for her and she climbed inside.

____

 

____

Jughead pulled over outside of Betty’s house and sat there, silent and studying the tense muscles of his hands as he gripped the steering wheel. Neither of them had said a word the entire ride over. Finally, Betty took a deep breath and tilted her head, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You’re mad.”

____

Jughead sighed. “I’m not mad.”

____

“You can’t even look at me.”

____

He turned his keys in the ignition, shutting off the engine, and shifted deliberately in his seat to face her, finally looking into her eyes.

____

“I’m _sorry_.”

____

“I know you are,” he mumbled. “You’re sorry, my dad’s sorry, everybody’s sorry.”

____

Betty grimaced. “That’s not fair.”

____

“You scared the hell out of me.”

____

“I know,” Betty’s voice cracked and tears sprung to her eyes. “It won’t happen again, I swear!”

____

“What _did_ happen?”

____

“I just got overwhelmed.” Not totally a lie. “It was one time.”

____

“I’m not just talking about last night. You’ve been jumpy. And distracted. And evasive,” he said, ticking off his fingers. “For weeks.”

____

Betty narrowed her eyes. “My sister died,” she said coldly, as if maybe he’d forgotten.

____

Jughead’s face softened. “But that’s not it, is it?” he asked quietly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

____

“Jug, I can’t...”

____

“I thought we told each other everything.”

____

Betty looked down at her lap, at her hands which had coiled into tight fists. “I can’t tell you this.”

____

“Betts,” Jughead pleaded, taking hold of her hands and prying them open as gently as he could manage. He moved to cup her face and her hands came to rest on his elbows. “I love you so much. _Please_. Don’t go down a path I can’t follow.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We always do.”

____

Jughead’s touch was so gentle against her skin. The tremor in his voice was so desperate and the look in his eyes was so vulnerable and full of love, Betty almost gave in. She found herself wanting to fall into his arms and tell him everything.

____

_Does your Serpent boyfriend know you’re here?_

____

_FP won’t be the only Jones behind bars._

____

Betty shuddered, thinking back to the threat that had been made against her boyfriend. Her sweet, smart, sensitive boyfriend. She thought of him in prison and screwed her eyes shut, a sob caught in her throat. It was in that moment that Betty realized that she could find the men who killed Polly or she could have Jughead. But she couldn’t have both.

____

“Stay with your mom for a bit and I’ll come pick you up in a few days after you’ve-"

____

“No!” Betty cried, pushing him away. She wiped the tears slowly from one cheek then the other and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not coming back.”

____

“What? Why?”

____

“This isn’t- this isn’t working.” Betty struggled to get the words out.

____

Jughead’s eyebrows knit together and he started frantically shaking his head. “Betty-"

____

“It’s too much! Me and you. Living at the trailer together. I mean, who’re we kidding? We’re 17! It was never going to work out!”

____

“Fine. We don’t have to live together. I though it was what you wanted, but you can go home and we can just-"

____

“God, Jughead, just stop! You can’t help me!”

____

He flinched as she raised her voice and searched her face for some sign that she was joking or not thinking clearly.

____

“M-maybe it’s like you said. We _were_ on borrowed time.”

____

Jughead scoffed. He took his beanie off, dropping it on the dashboard, and brushed his hair back with his fingers, pulling on the ends. _He’s angry_ , she thought. _Good_.

____

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice low.

____

The why. Such an integral part of a breakup and yet, it was just another thing she couldn’t tell him. Not if he wanted the truth. She didn’t have it in her to make something up. She just had to get out of there before she changed her mind. She turned away from him and gripped the door handle. “Don’t come back here,” she said quietly before slipping out of the car.

____

“Betty!”

____

But she didn’t dare look back. She ran into the house and straight up to her room, dropping her bag on the way and slamming the door behind her. She slumped back against the hard, white-painted wood and slid to the floor, her hand wrapped around the doorknob. She heard Jughead speed off, could hear the pain and anger in the squeal of the tires.

____

Betty wept, a loud, ugly, body-wracking cry.

____

At one point, she heard her mother’s footsteps outside her door, but Alice must have realized there was nothing she could say to heal her only daughter’s broken heart because she never knocked on the door and eventually retreated to her own bedroom.

____

Once Betty started, she couldn’t stop. She fell asleep crying for the boy she loved and for herself, for everything she said that she didn’t mean and everything she did.

____


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years...  
> Seriously though, I had such a hard time writing this chapter. I still don't like it.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Jones?”

Jughead jumped up when his name was called, adjusted his wool hat, and walked quickly over to visitor check-in. He was dropping his wallet and cellphone into a clear bin and hanging a VISITOR lanyard around his neck while a petite woman with cropped, platinum hair skimmed a sheet of paper. She was wearing the same khaki uniform as all of the other prison employees and recited the rules in the same bored-but-authoritative voice they all seemed to have mastered.

“You may hug the inmate once when you arrive and once before you leave. Aside from that, no physical contact is allowed. You will stay seated on your side of the table at all times. You are not to approach or interfere with any of the other inmates or visitors in the visiting room. Any mail, gifts, or personal items you wish to leave with the inmate must be approved and inspected by the overseeing corrections officer. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sign here.”

She slid a form under the glass divider. He signed J-U-G-H- before crossing it out and begrudgingly scribbling _Forsythe Jones_ in his best handwriting.

A different corrections officer lead Jughead down a labyrinthine hallway to the visiting room. The officer, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard, was large enough he would almost be intimidating if not for the kind eyes crinkled in the corners by laugh lines. He opened the door and Jughead stepped past his outstretched arm, taking a deep breath.

The room was surprisingly pleasant, well-lit with natural light from a wall of windows and filled with excited and heartfelt chatter. There were 12 small tables with two chairs on either side set up in a grid. All but two tables were occupied with inmates and their visitors. Some were small children visiting their fathers, basically vibrating in their chairs. Some were teary-eyed girlfriends and wives there to see the lovers they had been forced to wait for. Some were brothers, whether related by blood or not, it didn’t matter. Jughead saw them and recognized the bond of a brother who’s had your back since boyhood.

Jughead finally glanced to the furthest corner of the room where FP was already seated and waiting. Upon seeing his son for the first time in months, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping along the tiled floor. Jughead mumbled thanks to the corrections officer and made his way over to his father, looking him up and down. He was dressed in a scrub-like top and pants, not orange like he’d seen on TV, but olive green. He could see muscle rippling under the short sleeves, more than he had when he left, and a good deal of dark stubble shadowed his jaw.

“Dad,” he breathed nervously by way of greeting.

FP grabbed the fabric of Jughead’s wool sweater where it covered his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. Jughead patted his back affectionately before he was pushed away and held at arm’s length. His father looked at him and sighed.

“You look like shit, son.”

Jughead scoffed as they both took their seats.

FP was not wrong. Jughead was sporting dark bags under blood-shot eyes. His beanie was barely concealing his wild raven-coloured hair, made messy by too much pulling and twirling. And as his father’s eyes flitted to his knuckles just for a second, he knew he hadn’t missed the faint bruising from where he had punched that skeevy bartender in the jaw.

“How’re you doing, dad?”

“Peachy.”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“Nah, I mean it, kid,” FP said, smirking. “I’m actually… bored. And sober, obviously. And I’m not gonna be in here long. I’m gonna come home and obey my parole and… Ya know, it’s not so bad being bored.”

“And no one’s giving you any trouble?”

“You watch too much TV... No, no one’s tried to shiv me in the yard,” he joked. “No one cares about some washed up, small-town gang banger,” he added, scratching the back of his head.

“Well… good.”

“How are _you_ , Jug?” FP asked, leaning forward. “How’s it living with the Finn’s? How’s Southside High?”

“I dunno, it’s fine, I guess.”

“And how’s Betty?”

Jughead stiffened for a second, sighed and shut his eyes. He pulled the beanie off his head, dropping it on the table. FP’s eyes lingered on the hat for a second, his eyebrows raised, before he looked back up at his son. Usually, Betty Cooper was a topic of conversation that brought a genuine smile to his son’s too-serious face, but now his jaw was clenched and he just looked haunted.

Jughead raked his fingers through his hair. He had been expecting his father to ask about Betty of course, but he was still unprepared for the flash of blonde hair and green eyes, pink lips and soft sweaters that her name brought to mind. He looked into his lap, avoiding his father’s eyes.

“Actually… she… we’re-” he cleared his throat. “We’re not…”

FP scoffed and Jughead’s head shot up.

“I knew you would do this,” his father said, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head.

“Do what?” Jughead asked angrily, suddenly defensive.

“What you’ve always done. What I did.”

Jughead shrugged and shook his head.

“You withdraw! You push people away at the first sign of trouble. When things get a little tough, you bail!”

Jughead focused on a spot on the table, fuming. “You don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“I know you’re an idiot if you think you’re ever gonna do better than Betty Cooper. The way she looks at you, the way she stands by you…” Jughead grimaced. He had never heard his dad sound so wistful. “That girl loves you.”

Jughead wiped at his nose with his sleeves. “No. She doesn’t.”

“That’s bullshit. I saw it. She-”

“ _She_ broke up with _me_ , OK?”

FP had the good sense to look sympathetic for a second, but it doesn’t last. “And you let her? You didn’t even try to change her mind?”

Jughead laughed bitterly. “What am I supposed to do?” Jughead asked, raising his voice. “She doesn’t wanna see me! She won’t even talk to me!” His voice cracked on the last part and all the fight drained out of him. He leaned his elbows on the table, his forehead in his hands.

“Maybe she just needs some time…”

“She blacked out,” Jughead said, his voice muffled by his hands.

“What?”

“Betty. She was drinking. At the Wyrm. I had to go down there and pick her up. Literally, carry her to the car because she couldn’t even walk.”

FP scraped his hand over his face, stopping to cover his mouth. “Fuck…” he sighed.

“I don’t know what to do, dad.” Jughead cringed at the desperation in his own voice. “I don’t know how to help her.”

FP put his hand on his son’s shoulders making his hands fall from in front of his face. He pulled him closer so their foreheads were almost touching. “All you can do is be there for her, son. In whatever way she needs.”

“Jones!”

Both Jughead and FP’s heads snapped up. The guard made a gesture that Jughead thought looked like an umpire calling ‘safe’ but guessed meant for them to stop touching because FP leaned back slowly.

“You don’t give up on her, you hear me?”

At the intensity in his father’s eyes, Jughead went speechless and just nodded. _I won’t._


	8. Chapter 8

Betty was sitting on the ground, her back leaning against Polly’s headstone. Her eyes were closed and her hands rested on the soil six feet above her sister. If someone were to walk by, they might think she was weird. The sun had just set and moisture had already started to collect on the grass. She could feel it seeping through her dress and the thin fabric of her white cotton underwear until her bottom was numb from the chill.

 _What exactly_ , Betty had thought earlier, _does one wear to visit a grave? Surely, I don’t need to wear black. Right? I could pull a Cheryl and wear blinding white_.

In the end, she had landed somewhere in the middle, pulling a soft, grey sweater dress over her head. There were cut-outs on the waist and it made her think of the back-to-school dance, when she was sure she was in love with Archie Andrews, when Jughead Jones was the childhood friend she barely spoke to anymore, when Veronica Lodge had started calling them B & V, a package deal, and when she had no idea where her sister was or how she was doing.

_I'm sorry, Polly._

A tear rolled down Betty's cheek and she positioned her nails in the crescent cuts on her palms.

She was cheering at the football game while Polly sat abandoned at a home for troubled youth. _Dig._ She was picking out the perfect pink shade of lipstick to impress Archie while Polly grew twins inside of her body all on her own. _Dig._ She was laughing over milkshakes at Pop’s while Polly was waiting for Jason to come and save her. _Dig._ She was-

_Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz._

Betty looked down at the cellphone in her lap and saw Archie’s name flash on the screen. She hit ignore for the third time that day. She already knew what he wanted to talk about.

_“He’s not doing too good, Betty.”_

_“I’ve never seen him like this.”_

_“Please, just talk to him.”_

And she wanted to, she really fucking wanted to. She missed his voice, his touch, that stupid fucking beanie. She missed him so much it was like a physical ache, like the throbbing, begging pain you get in your stomach when you go too long without eating.

She hoped he would forgive her some day because she imagined the rest of her life without Jughead and her stomach screamed at her to _just fucking eat already!_

Her phone buzzed again and she lifted her finger to hit ignore, but her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Joaquin’s name instead of Archie’s. She swiped her finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Betty… I found him.”

_Dig._

 

The second time Betty went to meet Joaquin, he wasn’t waiting for her in the car like last time, but leaning against the hood. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips and his black hair was slicked back. He jumped, almost unnoticeable, when Betty walked out of the darkness and into the light of the only streetlamp in the parking lot. He flicked his cigarette onto the pavement and stomped it out with the toe of his black boot. Joaquin watched the bud smoke for a second before looking back up, a greeting to Betty already half way up his throat. But the words died on his lips when he noticed she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the manila folder perched on the hood next to him.

“Is that him?” she asked, nodding to it.

Jaoquin looked down at the folder then back at Betty. “What are you gonna do?”

“Joaquin,” she said, annoyed, holding her hand out.

“We should give it to Kevin’s dad.”

She scoffed. “No. We shouldn’t.”

“Betty-”

“Give me the file, Joaquin,” she demanded slowly.

He opened his mouth to reason with her, but she took a step closer to him, an empty look in her eyes that was somehow both ice cold and searing. It was so unlike the versions of Betty he’d encountered, it made him shiver. He glanced down to her hands which were balled into fists. His eyes followed a trickle of blood that dripped from between her clenched fingers and trailed down the inside of her wrist.

“Now,” she finished in an intimidatingly low voice.

He held the file out to her, half expecting her to rip it out of his hands and tear it open. Instead, she took it from him slowly and held it in her hands for a while, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and opened the file, angling it towards the light. Joaquin already knew what was inside, so he watched Betty’s face as she studied the grainy photograph of the man who was behind the gun the day her sister died. Her grip tightened, wrinkling the paper. She didn’t blink once. Suddenly, she snapped the folder closed and held it to her chest.

She turned to leave and Joaquin quickly reached out to grab her arm.

"Betty-"

Just as quickly, she grabbed his wrist, wrenching his hand off of her. She twisted it just so, her hold on him unyielding, but when he hissed in pain, she dropped his arm as if it were burning her.

She thanked him quietly and then she was gone, back into the darkness.

 

After Betty left, Joaquin paced in the parking lot, walking back and forth in front of his Barracuda’s headlights and creating a light show on the trees at the edge of Eversgreen Forest.

He and Betty had never really been _friends_ in the conventional sense. Maybe that was just Riverdale – conventional on the outside, but distorted and twisted like a fun house mirror when you looked closer. _Betty is a prime example of that_ , Joaquin thought, remembering the story that asshole Chuck Clayton told at Jughead’s birthday party.

And she was important to Kevin. That he knew.

He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his list of contacts to **Preppy (DON’T CALL)** , and ignored the all caps command. It rang four and a half times before he heard the loud silence of a call connecting.

“Joaquin, hi.”

“Hey Kev.”

“I’m… a little surprised to be hearing from you.”

“Yeah, look I don’t really know how to explain the whole thing, but I need you to talk to Jughead.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Betty. She’s in over her head and I think she might do something stupid.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know where she is. But I know where she’s going.”

Joaquin heard someone moving around in the background.

“Jughead’s here. You’re on speaker.”

“You need to get to Midvale. A place called The Last Resort.”

“Why?”

“I… I’m sorry, I was just trying to help her. I thought I was doing the right thing, but… I think I fucked up.”

More movement. A beep. And then Jughead’s voice, sounding closer and clearer.

“Joaquin, tell me everything you know.”

 

By some twisted act of fate – or the fact that there were only like six cab drivers in Riverdale and most hung out by the bus terminal – Betty was taken to The Last Resort by the same driver who took her there the first time.

On the way over, her clutch sat on her lap and she was comforted by the weight of the only thing inside.

Grundy’s handgun had still been in the same spot – in the bottom drawer of her mother’s desk (which she had popped the lock on easily), hidden beneath old editions of the _Register_.

When they arrived, Betty slid out and handed the driver some money through the open window.

“You want me to wait again, miss?”

“No.”

After the cab pulled away, Betty walked slowly, but determinedly to the other side of the street, her skin vibrating and her palms itching. She hated to stand on the sidelines, but she knew going in there just then would be a bad idea. She was angry; she wasn’t _mad_. She spotted a burnt-out streetlight and leaned her hip against the wooden pole, her ankles crossed.

“Patience is a virtue, Elizabeth,” her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

Betty watched several people spill out of the bar. A group of younger guys, clearly drunk, but not as drunk as they were acting, were embraced in some kind of clumsy four-way secret handshake. A couple of girls, even younger, walked away from them, holding hands and giggling into each other’s hair as the guys watched them go and clutched at their hearts dramatically. A man with a puffed-out chest and sweaty face lead a beautiful woman across the parking lot, his hand suggestively low on her back. She would have been way out of his league if not for the Rolex on his wrist and the Porsche he was ushering her into.

Betty reveled in the darkness, in being hidden. She could see them, but they couldn’t see her and it made her feel powerful. She searched the crowd for _his_ face, the pads of her fingers rubbing uncomfortably against the moon-shaped cuts on her palms, not enough pressure to make them bleed, but enough to sting. He wasn’t there though. She pulled her blonde ponytail tight until her temples ached and her eyes stung.

The time that passed did not snuff out the fire Betty felt in her veins, but rather reduced it to smouldering embers that were just waiting to be fanned into a flame again. She thought it must be glowing beneath her skin.

She did not have to wait long and she recognized the face as soon as it came through the leather-padded door. _He_ leaned his back against the brick wall of The Last Resort, downing the last sips of a beer and setting the empty bottle down on the pavement. Another guy stood next to him, still nursing his drink. The man she was here for stuck a cigarette between his lips and when he flicked open a Zippo to light it, for some reason Betty rolled her eyes. He took a drag and the orange glow lit up his weathered, bulbous features like a kid telling a ghost story. The other guy tipped his drink back, finishing the final gulps, and made a gesture that Betty guessed meant he was going to get another. He went inside and then it was just the two of them outside the bar.

Betty stood up straight and steeled herself.

She walked across the deserted street and started across the parking lot, the tap of her white sneakers echoing on the pavement. She couldn’t see anything else, couldn’t hear anything but her own heartbeat, dull but surround-sound like being under water.

She just focused on his face and walked.

As she got closer, she reached into her clutch, wrapped her small hand around the gun and pulled it out in one swift motion, dropping her arm to her side. She pulled the hammer back with her thumb until she heard it click. Her pace increased, her steps trying to catch up to the rhythm of her heart, and her hand shook violently. Betty was about 30 feet away and still, he hadn’t noticed her, hadn’t even looked up. She had the gun about halfway raised and was about to yell out to him when suddenly, she felt a large hand cover hers over the gun and was forcefully turned around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found it really hard to write Betty's darkness, I think maybe because I don't fully understand it? That being said, I don't think she does either.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst, I know, but I'm trying to live that school/part-time job/also trying to sleep and have a social life life, ok?

Betty stumbled along behind Jughead as he pulled her away from the Last Resort, his grip tight on her wrist. She hazarded a glance back and saw the man who killed her sister, still oblivious to the scene playing out not 50 feet away, flick his cigarette to the ground and blow out on last puff of smoke. He staggered back into the bar, the door slamming shut behind him. Betty struggled in Jughead’s grasp.

“Urgghh, let me go!”

As they approached the truck, Jughead let go of her wrist and pushed Betty toward the beat-up old Ford so he was standing between her and the bar. He put one shaking hand on his hip and ran the other through his dark hair, breathing deeply to calm down. He held his hand out, palm up.

“Give it to me,” he said, his voice taking on a sternness that she was stubborn to give in to.

When she didn’t immediately hand the gun over and tried to turn her face away, Jughead tilted his head too and forced her eyes to meet his, giving her a warning glance. Betty huffed and slapped the gun into his waiting hand. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching as he fidgeted with it. She heard something click and the mag fell into his other hand. He stepped closer to her and tossed both pieces angrily through the truck’s open window behind her.

“What were you thinking?!”

He was met with silence as Betty still refused to say anything. Jughead sighed. “Just get in.” He grabbed her arm again, a bit more gently this time and lead her to the other side of the truck. He opened the passenger side door, but she made no move to get in.

“You had no right…” Betty said in a low growl.

“What did you just say?”

“You had no right!” she snapped.

Jughead slammed the door right beside her. Then he pulled it back open and slammed it again. And again.

Betty flinched and screwed her eyes shut tight. She felt each slam of the truck’s door reverberate through her skull and felt the familiar rush of coming back from that dark place where her blood simmered and her skin tingled. It was like ice water being poured over her. Her breath came in quick spurts. Her head was spinning and she dug her fingernails into her palms to ground herself.

 _I was going to_ kill _a person_ , she thought.

She could still feel the cool metal of the gun in her hand, the trigger beneath her finger. Her breath quickened. She sucked air into her throat but let it go before it could do any good for her lungs. She bit down hard on her chapped, trembling lip and black spots clouded her vision.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Jughead’s voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but his voice sounded concerned. God, she missed that voice. She tried to focus on it. She opened her eyes and was looking straight into his, the deep blue of his irises helping to calm her. He was holding her face in his hands and caressing her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Betty, baby, breathe,” he said softly.

She concentrated and did as he said, inhaling and exhaling deeply. A tear rolled down her cheek and he brushed it away. Betty uncurled her fists, wincing as the cold air hit the fresh cuts, and moved her hands to Jughead’s arms. She clutched onto the leather material of his jacket, leaving streaks of red behind. She was suddenly aware that although there didn’t seem to be anyone around, they were still standing outside of a bar frequented by a rival gang.

“You should take this off…” she mumbled.

She pushed the snake-emblazoned jacket off Jughead’s shoulders. He shrugged out of it and tossed it into the bed of the truck, unconsciously stepping closer to Betty. She stepped closer too and dropped her head onto his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of Red Vines and men’s body wash. Jughead wrapped her up in his arms, rubbing her back and soothing her with his touch. Betty closed her eyes and thought, _This is where I’m supposed to be_.

 

Jughead held Betty close and after a little while, her breathing began to even out and the tears that had fallen from her eyes onto his collar dried. She pressed herself closer against him and he could almost feel the change that happened inside of her. She turned her head into him and he felt her lips graze against the tendon in his neck. He shivered and she pressed her lips more firmly against his skin, kissing and nibbling.

“Betty…”

She moved her lips softly across his jaw and eventually made her way to his lips, but when she kissed him, he didn’t respond.

“Kiss me,” she begged against his lips.

For a moment, Jughead gave in, pressing hip lips to hers and sinking into the kiss. But too soon, he was pushing her away gently, her back colliding with the truck, his hand on her shoulder so she couldn’t come closer.

“You broke up with me, remember?” he reminded her resentfully.

“I just wanted to protect you,” she reasoned, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

“Well, it still fucking hurt Betty! Do you have any idea how it feels for you to just shut me out like that with no explanation? After everything we’ve been through? After you told me you loved me?!”

“I do! I’m sorry! I made a mistake!” She was crying full-on tears now. “Jug… Please…” She reached forward and ghosted the pads of her fingertips over his cheek. “I do love you.”

Jughead moved toward her suddenly, lifting her up by the backs of her thighs and pressing her back against the truck. She gasped, but her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Say it again,” he growled.

“I love you.” She kissed his neck. “I love you.” His jaw. “I love you.” The corner of his mouth. “I love-”

He kissed her then, hot and heavy, and she whimpered into his mouth, sinking her fingers into his hair. He nibbled on her bottom lip until it was swollen and explored her mouth with his tongue until she pulled away from his lips, gasping for breath. He twisted her ponytail around his hand and pulled back. She moaned as her neck was exposed to him. He kissed down the column of her neck, sucking bruises into the soft skin.

Betty found his hand on her thigh and covered it with her own. She directed it up under her dress, her breath hitching when his fingers grazed the edge of her underwear. He moved his hand between her thighs and groaned when he felt her warm and wet through the thin cotton. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and sucked on the warm skin over her raging pulse. He circled his fingers against her experimentally and she rolled her hips forward slowly.

“P-please,” she whispered.

He ran his fingers over her again, his touch soft. “Please what?”

Jughead had missed having her like this like crazy, to have her breathless and wanting beneath him, but a sicker part of him also liked hearing her beg.

She put her lips against his ear. “I feel empty without you inside me,” she whined quietly.

Jughead groaned and licked a stripe from the hollow of her neck to just beneath her jaw.

He secured Betty’s legs more tightly around his waist so he could let go without her falling. He undid his belt clumsily and unzipped his jeans. He looked up at her to check if she wanted him to keep going. She bit her lip and nodded. He pushed her underwear to the side, lifted her hips slightly, and lowered her onto himself. They both moaned at the feeling of being melded together again. He moved one hand to the small of her back and wrapped the other around her calve where it hugged his waist. They kissed softly and he started moving inside of her.

He tried to keep a slow pace, really, he did, but Betty was having none of it, urging him to go faster with her body and her whispered words. Eventually, they were unable to focus on kissing. Betty leaned her head back against the truck while Jughead mouthed at her perked nipple over the fabric of her dress. It didn’t take long at all and when he felt her muscles start to seize up, he knew she was close.

“Tell me you love me too,” she panted.

Jughead moved one hand around her neck, his thumb on her jaw and forced her to look up at him. It took a second for her eyes to focus through the haze of pleasure.

“I love you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and her climax hit her unexpectedly. Her head fell back again. She tightened her legs around him and fisted the fabric of his sweater. Jughead followed soon after, grunting and dropping his head into the crook of her neck.

“Fuck Betts…” he muttered into her skin, licking a bead of sweat that was dripping toward the neckline of her dress.

After a few minutes, when they both had caught their breath, Jughead lifted Betty off of him and set her down on shaking legs. He re-buttoned his pants and buckled his belt, but looked up when he heard her crying.

“Hey, hey…”

She was sniffling and looking at the ground, her head shaking. Actually, her whole body was shaking, or rather shivering. Jughead removed his sweater and wrapped it around her, rubbing warmth into her arms. He put his finger under her chin and lifted her head.

“I really fucked this up, huh?”

“No… Betts-”

“I know I did,” she insisted before linking her fingers through his. “But I'll tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“OK.”

“OK.” She nodded decisively. He kissed her on the forehead and she leaned her head on his chest, her ear over his beating heart. “Take me home, Juggie?”

“To your parent’s house?”

Betty shook her head and looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest.

“Wherever you are.”


	10. Chapter 10

Things got better after that.

Betty and Jughead sent all of the information from Joaquin’s source to Sheriff Keller anonymously. The tip finally gave Keller the pieces he needed to shut down the Black Mamba’s illegal activities. Several gang members were arrested, tried and convicted, but of course, the leader was protected as his underlings fell on their swords and took the brunt of the blame. Unfortunately, nothing concerning Polly could be tied to her killer directly, but Betty promised to stay out of it and give Keller more time.

She made a commitment to move on and let go of things she had no control over.

She still liked spending most nights with Jughead, but she also spent some nights at home with her parents; they even invited Jughead over for dinner once a week. Betty and her mother established an arrangement of total honesty and she tried to coax her father out of the basement as often as she could to work on the old Thunderbird together. She told her friends everything – minus the part about having sex in a public parking lot – and apologized for making them worry. Veronica forgave her immediately on the condition that they spend the next five Saturdays together, brunching and shopping and getting manicures and pedicures and watching trashy reality TV, which Betty agreed to happily.

She was trying to lean on the people in her life that she loved and she realized how lucky she was to have them. She visited her sister’s grave often, but stopped going alone. Jughead or Veronica or her parents or sometimes even Cheryl went with her. She even went with Jughead to visit FP. She brought homemade cookies and he blushed when she kissed him on the cheek, but he still couldn’t get her to stop calling him Mr. Jones.

The person she was most grateful for was Jughead. She was doing much better, but she could tell he was still worried about her. He would reach for her hand and try to discreetly check her palm for new cuts and she would just squeeze his hand and he would bring her hand up to his lips and kiss her knuckles and she would sigh and lean further into him. He did so much to make her happy. He organized special dates for them. Some were successful, like the impromptu drive-in movie he set up with Archie’s help, a cliché date experience he claimed they were cheated out of when the Twilight was shut down. Others were… not so successful, like when he tried to cook a four-course meal for her and almost burned down the trailer. They ate salads and still clad in her River Vixens uniform, she took him in her mouth in his bedroom to thank him for the effort.

_“This is fulfilling so many of my preteen fantasies, Betts.”_

He even introduced her to some of his friends from Southside High, a spunky girl named Toni Topaz, who had pink-streaked hair and who Betty liked immediately, and a boy named Sweet Pea, who didn’t look so sweet on the outside with his leather jacket, tattoos, and piercings, but who totally was.

Jughead picked her up from school everyday and those few hours after school belonged to them. They usually went to get something to eat at Pop’s before going back to Betty’s house, hanging out in her bedroom until her parents got home from work.

 

“I can’t focus when you do that…”

“Do what?” Jughead asked innocently even as he moved the strap of her tank top out of the way and placed another open-mouthed kiss on her bare shoulder.

“Juggie…” she tried to scold, but it came out sounding more like a moan.

“Why do you need to know about…” He glanced around her at the textbook lying open on the bed. “…atomic structure anyway?” He brushed her hair to the side and pressed his lips to the skin below her ear.

“That’s… a good... question…”

Betty turned her head and captured his lips. She pushed him down gently onto the bed and lowered herself next to him so they were facing each other. They kissed lazily for a few more minutes before Betty pulled away, breathless, and tucked her head under his arm. Jughead trailed his fingertips slowly up and down her spine and Betty wondered how she could feel so relaxed and so electrified at the same time. She looked up at him and pushed that pesky curl of dark hair out of his face.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You want a snack?”

“Do you even have to ask, Betts?”

“Well, you just had a cheeseburger, an order of fries, most of _my_ fries-”

“Mmm, true love.”

“- and two chocolate milkshakes at Pop’s so… Yeah, I guess not,” she giggled, dropping a quick peck on his lips before hopping off the bed. “Be right back.”

Downstairs, Betty rifled through the cupboard, pulling out a box of cookies and adding it to the tray with the string cheese and cans of pop, something she was pretty sure her mother stocked especially for Jughead seeing as no one else in the house even liked soft drinks.

She heard the front door open and jumped slightly. Her parents were working late and they weren’t due home for another half hour. She left the tray of snacks on the kitchen island and walked out into the front hall. Her father was running his hand through his rain-soaked hair and kicking off mud-caked shoes. He tore off his jacket, his movements frantic and imprecise, and shoved it into a black garbage bag, along with some other things Betty didn’t get a good look at.

“Dad?”

His head snapped up and he looked just as surprised to see her. She swore she saw a look of guilt flash across his face. He quickly lowered his eyes and grimaced, tying the bag closed with shaking fingers. He walked past her, patting her on the head without even looking at her. “Go back to bed, sweetie,” he said before disappearing around the corner.

“Dad!”

But all that came next was the basement door slamming shut behind him.

“It’s 7:30…” she muttered to nobody.

 

The next day at school, Betty, Jughead, Archie, Veronica, and Kevin were hanging out in the student lounge. Archie and Veronica were laughing at something Kevin had said and Betty’s eyes drifted to the TV in the corner above. There was a newswoman standing in front of bright yellow caution tape, which had been wrapped around the entrance of a familiar-looking brick building. The camera panned out and in the background, Betty could see the unlit sign letters of THE LAST RESORT.

“Turn that up!”

Archie looked between Betty and the TV, confused for a second, before finding the remote.

_“Police say the victim has been identified as 36-year-old Jack Franklin. Franklin, who was under current investigation regarding his connection to the Black Mamba’s, was killed outside The Last Resort motorcycle club last night.”_

A mugshot popped up on the screen and Betty’s breath caught in her throat. It was _him_. Jughead must have recognized him too because he grabbed her hand and squeezed.

_“The county coroner would not disclose all the details of the autopsy report, but has said that the cause of death was most likely blunt force trauma to the head and placed the time of death at somewhere between 5 PM and 7 PM. The police also believe Franklin was dragged post-mortem into the woods behind the bar where the suspect or suspects attempted to bury the body. However, due to the heavy rain storm, the body was discovered early this morning by a passing jogger. The police have not speculated on a motive and have no leads at this time.”_

 

“Betty… BETTY!”

Betty blinked and focused on her mother, who was waving her hand in front of her face. “Huh?”

“I asked you to please set the table for dinner. Your father will be home any second,” her mom said, narrowing her eyes and holding up some plates.

“Oh, right, yes,” Betty chirped, taking them from her. She walked around the table placing plates, forks, and knives at each setting while her mother threw some croutons into the salad. She heard the front door open and close.

“I’m home!”

“We’re in here!” her mother yelled.

Betty looked up slowly from beneath her lashes as her father walked into the kitchen, kissing her mother on the cheek.

“How are you, my love?”

“Fine, dear. Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

“Smells great.” Then her father turned to her. “And how are you, honey?”

They made eye contact and in that moment, Betty knew that he knew that she knew what he had done.

“Good, dad… I’m good.”

And she really meant it.

They sat down to dinner and talked about a million and one things.

But they _never_ talked about _him_.

Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who are still here, thank you so much for reading! What'd you think? I'd love to know! :)


End file.
